


we're messing up your space

by losingdogs



Category: Barry (TV 2018)
Genre: 4 evry1s safety, Drinking, M/M, Teasing, Touch-Starved, also im sorry this fic is so fuckin weird the simps cape fear ep got to me, cartoons, i feel like fuches is weirdly into Good ol toons, n just ignores b bein like hey so how bout that rick n morty huh, uhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22203577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losingdogs/pseuds/losingdogs
Summary: barry's a cheap date
Relationships: Barry Berkman/Monroe Fuches
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	we're messing up your space

**Author's Note:**

> on god idk how i wrote smthn like soft? for these 2  
> this sorta goes b4 the "shut up i got this" sitch but no need t read.. *dennis reynolds voice* ive still got shit to say, yknow??

Barry's opposite Fuches in the bar's little booth, both hands round a sweaty beer as Fuches waxes poetic about Porky Pig. He has no memory of how they got to this topic, but he finds he doesn't really mind. There's something about Fuches when he talks about something he really cares - 

"Wait, who the fuck is Tess Avery?"

"Who's Te- are you serious?"

"Uh, yeah, man. We weren't all around in the Great Depression."

Fuches just stares at him a moment.

" _Tex_... Avery... one of the best animators ever. Porky, Bugs... Daffy Duck, he was _there_ , man. We're talking the golden years."

Barry struggles to look knowledgeable while completely lost, wasted, and sleepy. He dips into the bowl of cashews between them. "The Bowie song?"

"I -"

Fuches tosses his head, calling him over, and Barry leans forward, eager to please.

"No, dipshit. C'mon."

He pats the leather beside him. Barry twigs, and scoots around to his side of the booth. Their little corner mostly hides them from the rest of the patrons. Fuches shifts into his space, their knees knocking as he puts a hand on Barry's head.

He idly plays with his hair, smoothing the bird's nest as he starts his lecture in a voice both fond and condescending. "So, in the 1920s, Steamboat Willie..."

Barry zones out immediately, lost in the sensation of Fuches' blunt fingers in his hair. Fuck, he loves Fuches' hands on him. Those fingers futz with the locks over his forehead, massage his scalp, stroke his temple. Fuches' warm voice rambles on as he keeps on touching him, rubbing his thumb into the hollow at the back of his ear as Barry swallows hard. His eyes flutter shut as Fuches' hand grazes his throat. Rough fingers slip around to lightly twist the baby hairs at the back of Barry's neck, and Barry can't help but let out a little sigh, shifting in his seat at the attention. He leans into Fuches' touch.

"... and that's why they called it Termite Terrace. Barry?"

Barry sets his face belatedly and looks at Fuches, whose eyes are twinkling knowingly. He leans in.

"Something on your mind, bud?" Fuches murmurs in his ear, the _whoosh_ of air making him shiver.

Barry tries to stay cool, breathing as evenly as he can. Fuches' proximity, his breath on his neck erases all memories of how to speak. He doesn't dare look down as Fuches' hand brushes his own from where it's clawed into his jeans, and rubs his thigh a little.

"C'mon, I gotta teach you to talk now? Use your words."

Barry shuts his eyes tight, concentrates.

"Mm, just ah, jus' wondering what a guy's gotta do to get a drink round here," he says weakly.

Fuches doesn't let up, chuckling low against his skin. "You're cleaning me out, boy. _Four_ beers? In one night? Take this."

He nudges his malt whiskey towards him. Barry can feel Fuches' eyes on him as his lips find the warm spot on the glass where Fuches' had been moments earlier. He takes a mouthful obediently, swallows.

"There we go."

"Thanks, man."

"No problem." 

Barry accidentally makes eye contact as Fuches slides his liquor back and takes a slow drink from the exact same place on the rim, ah - he shoves his shaky hand in the cashew bowl again.

"Uh, whadda - fuck man, there's gotta be some, fuckin', airtime overlap. Um, we both like the Simpsons."

Fuches' eyes light up again as he effortlessly takes control of the conversation. He jumps on Barry's admission of being scared of Lunchlady Doris to rant about how lame the Springfield Elementary staff are, and Barry cackles as he does a flawless impersonation of Mrs. Krabappel.

Fuches, as the cool uncle who always made fun of Barry's teachers, goes to town on Skinner. His face is animated, his gestures quick, pitch a spot-on imitation of the pathetic principal. He references the bit where Skinner is snowed in the school gym and asks the class hamster to "chew through his ballsack!", a favourite quote Barry shared with him months ago. Cashews spray from Barry's mouth as he cracks up, ridiculously pleased that Fuches remembers anything he says. He glows when Fuches laughs too and slings an arm round his shoulder, telling himself the heat in his cheeks is only from the alcohol.

He steals another sip from Fuches' drink. "Hey. Um." Barry's just drunk enough not to worry about how they might look, Fuches' arm close and possessive around him. His entire body is tuned towards Fuches' face. "Family Guy. Best episode?"

Dead silence.

Fuches' hand is hovering in midair, glass halfway to his mouth. He sets it down carefully.

"So," he says, like he hasn't heard a thing. "Is Sideshow Bob your favourite or what?"

" _Bart_ ," Barry gasps, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and they're back on track.

Bob, Patty and Selma are Fuches' favourite characters - "Checks out, honestly". Barry likes Bart - "God, could you be any more boring," - Marge, Moe, and maybe that guy whose really fuckin' into fish, the TV guy, y'know, uh - "Troy McClure," Fuches supplies, "you may know him from such movies as _Machine Guns: The Silent Killer!_ " Barry falls to pieces.

Fuches mellows with the drink as talk turns to Bart, and Milhouse's sad little dad. His male pattern baldness, his separation from Luann and single racecar bed. That hardworking dude Grimy that Homer basically murdered. Barry's eyes struggle to keep up with Fuches' hands as they wave through the air, mimicking needy Ol' Gil.

They take alternate sips, drinking and drinking til there's barely anything left. Barry slows down, wanting to make this weird situation last. His muscles are loose for once, he's not overthinking every little thing he says, he feels so warm and safe. He can't remember the last time he's felt this at ease. He relaxes even more as the hours slip by, snug and drowsy under Fuches' protective arm.

Fuches' voice thickens and drags, going from wise-crack to drip-dry as the night wears on and they gradually drain their last glass. Barry slouches by degrees until his head is resting on Fuches' shoulder, talking nonsense into his shirt.

Fuches' voice is low, gentle.

"Okay, buddy. C'mon, you've had enough. It's getting late."

Barry manages to lift his face from the warmth of Fuches' chest, glancing at the clock.

"Oh, shit. Fuches. It's almos' one in the morning. We gotta... I got cla-"

"Hey, I'm agreeing with you," Fuches chuckles, and gets to his feet with some effort. He hauls Barry, who is essentially a ragdoll at this point, up by the collar.

Barry chucks a few crumpled bills from his pocket in the general direction of the table as they weave towards the door, still talking shit about Superintendent Chalmers.

Fuches' arm finds its place around him, both pulling him close and holding him up as they pass the last table of students. Barry is visibly out of it as Fuches slurs deep, lips brushing his ear and smirking at every stumble. Something about their deal alerts the twenty-somethings, and one shoots Barry a concerned look - _you good?_

"Don't worry, I'm just his uncle," Fuches drawls, and Barry flashes a lupine smile as they tumble out of the bar, their laughter echoing far down the starlit street.

**Author's Note:**

> the_gay_age_gap.mp4


End file.
